"You was a detective, wasn't you?"
"I was. That's a whole different life. Takes all your energy, all your time. I'm glad it's behind me."
"Connie said y'all was already friends when you come on as the chef on her first boat."
"We were. We'd met through our friends who run a boat called Vengeance. She'd chartered it for a couple of months to learn to sail, and decided she wanted to go into the business. I happened along when she was trying to figure out where to find crew. I'd just retired, and I let her talk me into filling in until she could find somebody permanent."
"So how long did it take y'all to figger it out?"
"You mean about us?"
"Uh-huh. I don't mean to be nosy, but y'all are the first regular people I ever knowed good enough to talk to. See, the way I growed up, people didn't hardly ever meet nobody they didn't already know. They wasn't nobody 'round 'ceptin' people you knew. Fallin' in love with a stranger's just real, um, excitin', I guess. I don't know how to say it, 'xactly. It's like one of them movies where ever'body ends up happy, you know?"
"I think I know what you mean. It didn't take too long, but it was kind of funny. We both felt the same way, but neither of us knew the other shared our feeling. We fumbled around for a few months, and then all of a sudden ... " He grinned, remembering. "You and Dalton have always known one another, you said the other day."
"Uh-huh. That's it. We been together long's I can remember. That's just the way it was; like we was meant to be together. Ain't no decidin'. It just happened. It was thataway with ever'body I knowed, 'til Dalton got sent away and I kinda drifted to the big cities, lookin' for a way to make a livin'."
"So you and Dalton, you lived in Mingo County until he was sent away?"
"Well, no, but we was always 'round there. We moved around in West Virginia, mostly, lookin' to make a livin'. Times was hard there; reckon they always was. We'd done ended up in Baltimore 'fore he got arrested. He told you 'bout that, right? What he done?"
"A little," Paul said. "Possession with intent, right?"
"Uh-huh. He'd got to usin' 'fore we left Mingo County. More folks did than not, I reckon. Not me though. I seen what it did to my momma; kept me straight, for sure."
"Methamphetamines?" Paul asked.
"Uh-huh. Poor folks' coke, they called it 'round home. Fellers made it right around there, up in them hills. Hundred years ago, reckon they woulda been makin' corn likker. That was bad stuff, too. My pap was a drunk, but it ain't a patch on meth. No, sir, that meth's awful. Grabs ahold of a body and don't hardly never let go. Reckon if Dalton hadn't got sent to prison, it'd a done kilt him long ago."
"So he managed to get clean in prison?" Paul asked.
"Yes, sir. Reckon he had to, if 'n he wanted to get out when his time was up."
"Tell me about yourself, Gina. You must have missed Dalton while he was inside."
"I sure did. I stayed busy, though. That's what kept me goin'. Always stayed busy, from when I was little. School, work, don't never just set around and feel sorry for yourself. That's my secret to gettin' by."
"That's a good way to be. How'd you come by that knowledge?"
"My grandma. She was a good woman. What raisin' I got, I got from her. But she died when I was little. I reckon I was maybe nine, or ten. Then I was pretty much on my own. I mean, I lived with my folks, but pap was drunk and mam was doin' crank. Mostly, I tried to stay out of their way and get me enough to eat by helpin' the neighbors."
"But you managed to go to school," Paul said.
"Oh, yes, sir. That I did. School was safe, and warm in the winter, and they fed us, too. Used to hate to see summertime come, cause I knowed it was gonna be rough and I was gonna be hungry. But I done all right. I got growed up, and didn't get in no trouble."
"Dalton said he got a GED while he was inside."
"He did, I reckon, and good for him. Me, I didn't get to finish my schoolin'. Pap died, and then mam just up and left. Didn't nobody know where she went. I's 13, then, and Dalton, he was 18. He just kinda took me under his wing, and we left Mingo County. Weren't nothin' to keep us there."
She stifled a yawn. "Reckon I done near 'bout bored you to death. Puttin' my own self to sleep. I didn't mean to talk your ear off. I better go on down and see can I sleep a little bit 'fore the sun comes up. Let you mind your sailin' without no addle-pated girl jabberin' at you."
"Okay, Gina. You didn't bore me at all. You've had a hard life; you're an amazing young woman, to have come through all that with such a positive attitude."
She grinned at that. "I figgered you must be a real nice man, or Connie wouldn't of took up with you. Y'all are real kind folks. Ain't no words enough to thank you for takin' us in."
"It's the way of the sea, Gina. Always has been. There's no sailor who won't help another one when trouble strikes out here. And I enjoyed the company. Thanks for visiting. Get yourself some rest, now."
She nodded. "Yes, sir."
16
"Was that long enough?" Gina asked.
Dalton was replacing the mattress on his berth. "Yeah. You done good."
"You find anything?"
"Handheld radio. Bitch was lyin' when she said they didn't have no way to call a ship."
"Where was it?"
"In the drawer underneath where they keep that map they write on. There's a GPS in there, too. I left it alone."
"But you took the radio? They'll know — "
"I ain't stupid, Gina. I put it back."
"Then they can still call a ship if they see one."
He sat down on the edge of his berth and grinned at her.
"Nope. Not with that radio."
"You broke it? They'll still — "
He jumped up and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Gimme some fuckin' credit, Gina. I messed it up so it won't work, but they'll never know."
"How'd you do that?"
"Never you mind. I just did."
"But you don't know shit about stuff like that."
"Prison's good for learnin' stuff. I learned all kinda shit besides gettin' a GED." His fingers dug into her flesh.
"I didn't mean nothin' Dalton. I's just surprised, is all. Don't hurt me no more, please."
He shoved her away and sat back down. "Ain't all I found, either. Gonna need you to buy me some more time, though."
"Okay, but we prob'ly better wait, maybe 'til Connie's on watch again."
"Yeah, I think so. I gotta think about this a little, ennyhow. Need to find me somethin' to pick a lock with."
"You know how to pick a lock?"
"Uh-huh. Reckon I know lotsa shit you don't know 'bout, nowadays."
"You learn that in there, too?"
"Uh-huh."
"What lock 're you gonna pick? Only one I seen is that'n in the main saloon."
He grinned at up at her. "Done got that one; ain't much of a lock."
"What was in there?" she asked.
"Liquor."
"You didn't take none, did you?"
"Nope. Not yet, but I might."
"So what else you find that's locked up?"
"They's a strong-box built right into the fiberglass underneath the shower in the bathroom we been usin'."
"A strong-box?"
"Yeah, like them fireproof lockboxes people put stuff in. You seen 'em, right?"
"Uh-huh, I think so. 'Bout so big?" She indicated a shoebox-sized container with her hands. "And got a keyhole lock in the lid?"
"Yep. That's the kind."
"You can pick one of them locks?"
"In about a New York minute, I can. But I gotta find somethin' to use for picks."
"How 'bout a little screwdriver? I seen one of them stuck in that block with the pencils at the chart table."
"That'll help, but I need some hard steel wire, like from paper clips, but stiffer. Springy, kinda. Seen anything like that?"
"No, but I bet with all that hair, Connie's got some hair pins. How 'bout them?"
"Yeah. Now you'r
e talkin'. Hairpins'd be 'bout perfect. Think you can slip in her bathroom, maybe, like when they both up in the cockpit tomorrow 'round lunchtime?"
"I got a better idea. I'll just ask her can she borry me a few to hold my hair back."
"You think she'll go for that?"
"Sure she will. Us girls borry shit like that all the time. I'll ask her when she goes on watch next time. Prob'ly an hour or two. What else you need?"
"Pliers, but I know where to get them at." He gave her the evil grin.
She shuddered. "What do you reckon they got in that box?" Maybe she could keep him talking, take his mind off the other. She couldn't stand another session with the pliers, not until she had a day or two to heal.
"Reckon it could be most anything, but whatever it is, it's worth hidin’. Guns, maybe. Can't figger a cop wouldn't have no gun. Could be money or jewelry, shit like that. These here people's rich. Gotta be, to buy a boat like this. I still ain't figgered out how they got up enough money for somethin' like this, a damn ex-cop and a Mexican whore."
"Diamonds, maybe," Gina said, still wanting to distract him. When he was this alert, he might decide he wanted her, and she couldn't do that right now.
"Yeah, could be some diamond jewelry in there. People like them, he prob'ly done give her one of them diamond rings. Rich folks do that when they gonna get married. Bet it's in there."
"She said she'd always dreamed about diamonds," Gina said.
"The fuck 're you talkin' 'bout, Gina?"
"It's just somethin' she said, Dalton. Like she spent her money on the boat instead of diamonds, so she named it Diamantista. That's Spanish for diamonds, or somethin'. Diamond seller, maybe?"
"Yeah, I bet she dreamed about diamonds. Prob'ly dreamed about stealin' diamonds. Fuckin' Mexicans. They all stealin', lyin' shits. Betcha she stole enough stuff to buy this here boat. That I could believe. Prob'ly bought off that pansy-ass cop, too, or just screwed him out of his mind. She's hot enough to do it, too."
"He was from Miami, Dalton. She said she was livin' in Savannah, 'member? They met in the islands, her and him, not in Miami."
"Lyin' bitch. Prob'ly workin' in one of them fancy hotels in Miami. Lotsa damn Mexicans there. Drug money, too. I'll betcha she stole all kindsa jewelry and shit, and he was about to catch her. That 'splains ever'thing, don't you think?"
"Maybe so," Gina said. "How long you gonna need to open that box, once I get you the hairpins?"
"Hard to say. Some of them locks is better than others. Maybe five minutes is 'bout the most it'd take me, though. Shouldn't be no big problem for you to keep one or t'other of 'em busy long enough."
"I need to get me a little sleep, then, so's I can go visit with her in a bit." She climbed up into her berth, relieved that he didn't grab at her as she slipped past.
Gina was too keyed up to sleep. She was relieved when she heard Dalton start to snore. He was better, and she wasn't sure that was a good thing. If Connie or Paul caught him poking around in their stuff, it would cause a showdown. There was only one way she could picture that coming out, and that meant she and Dalton would be stuck sailing this boat by themselves. That hadn't worked out well the last time.
Even without a storm, this boat was bigger, harder to manage. Besides, they were still out of sight of land. Neither of them had a clue about how to find the Virgin Islands. She had to find a way to keep him occupied for another three days. If Connie and Paul were right, by the fourth day, they'd be pretty close to land. Even if they couldn't see it, all they'd have to do is keep sailing straight until they did.
Once Connie and Paul were out of the way, though, they'd have a new bunch of problems. She knew Dalton didn't think much beyond his next move, not even under the best circumstances. And the way he was now, life was a minute-to-minute proposition.
They hadn't worked out a story to tell when they got ashore. She had only a vague notion of what might be involved, but she'd heard the people she'd waited on at the places in Annapolis talk about "clearing in" with customs and immigration. She imagined that involved some paperwork, from other comments she'd picked up.
They didn't have passports. Connie and Paul surely did, but even a blind man would see that the pictures in their passports weren't hers and Dalton's. Besides that, they didn't know how to get the boat to a dock, even, or what was involved. She knew you had to pay to use a dock, and they didn't have any money.
She tensed when she heard Dalton cough and groan, holding her breath until he started snoring again. He was still the biggest problem she had. She knew he could blow up at any moment. She'd picked up on his comments about Connie, too. Not the ones about her being Mexican, but the ones about how hot she was. Restraint wasn't part of his makeup, any more than planning was. She knew it would just be a matter of time until he decided to take her.
She thought hard about how to keep them separated. If he forced himself on her, that would mean the end, right there. Dalton thought he was invincible, but she'd seen men like Paul before. She'd run across a vice cop like that in Baltimore when she was on the game, while Dalton was inside the first time. Gentle and quiet, with that steady gaze. She'd had a disagreement with her pimp one night, and the cop had come along just in time. She'd seen the recognition in his eyes when he spotted her, backed into a corner of an alley. He grabbed the unsuspecting pimp by the shoulder and spun him around.
Dalton was a killer; she'd seen him in action, but there was no calculation in what he did. He just lost control and let his lust for blood run free, just like that pimp had done. She'd been terrified; the pimp was cutting her with a razor blade, teasing little slices, calculated more to cause pain than to inflict actual damage. She still remembered every second of that night. The pimp had flailed at the cop, the sliver of razor blade fastened under his thumbnail with superglue. The cop's eyes had been icy calm, focused on the man's chest. He took a half-step back, let the blade pass within a hair of his cheek, and shot the pimp between the eyes.
As she'd cowered, dropping to a squatting position against the wall in the alley where he'd interrupted them, the cop put on a pair of blue rubber gloves like the people in the clinic wore. He'd reached in his pocket and pulled out a small, silvery pistol in a Ziploc bag. Taking it out of the bag, he wrapped the fingers of the pimp's right hand around the grip. The pistol had fired with a popping sound, and the bullet had whined away into the darkness after it ricocheted off the pavement.
The cop had stepped in front of her and grasped her chin, forcing her head up, looking her in the eye. He'd held her gaze for several seconds, studying her. "You saw him draw down on me, didn't you," he said. There was no question in his tone.
She knew there was only one answer that she could give. Trembling, she said, "Yes, sir."
"Remember that if anybody asks you. I don't think that's likely, though." He held her gaze for a few seconds longer. "You haven't been on the game long, have you?"
"No," she said. "No sir, not me."
He shook his head and took his hand away. "You need some food, a place to stay, want to get off the street, then you call this lady." He pressed a business card into her hand and stood up. He studied the body that lay next to her for a moment, and then walked away into the night.
She'd never seen Dalton tangle with anybody like that cop. She was certain that unless he was in one of his crazed furies, he wouldn't have the guts to attack a man like that. And if he was out of his head, she had the feeling that a man like that cop would squash him like a bug. She couldn't let that happen. Paul had that same calm gaze that the vice cop in Baltimore had, though she couldn't picture him killing. But then, she'd never seen him attacked by a crazy man, either.
"I see what you mean about her," Paul said.
"She's sweet, isn't she?" Connie asked. She had just come up to relieve him. It was a little after midnight.
"Considering what she's been through, yes," he said.
"You sound like you have some reservations. Why's that?"
"Not
really. It just comes as a shock, I guess. I know it's cliché, but the phrase 'child-like innocence' keeps popping into my mind. That seems so out of place, given her situation."
"What do you mean by her situation?"
"Mostly, keeping company with that loser."
"She may outgrow him yet; she's never known anything else."
"I wouldn't bet on that. She was on her own while he was in prison. She could have found somebody else, then, if she'd been inclined."
"He's the only steady companion she's ever known, Paul. She was probably completely adrift without him."
"I suppose you could be right about that. She would have still been a kid when he was locked up. What, late teens?"
"I'd guess that's about right," Connie said. "She's 20 now. How long was he in prison?"
"I don't know, exactly. He said he got three to five, but I don't know how long a sentence he actually served."
"Say he served three years. She would have been at most 17 when he left."
"Pretty young, you're right. Older than dirt in some ways, but probably not well equipped to live on her own. Not even a high school diploma."
"Speaking of living on her own, that reminds me of something I've meant to ask you about Dalton. Wouldn't he be on probation, or something?"
"Depends on where he was, how much of his sentence he served, whole bunch of other factors. Why?"
"I just wondered. He gets out of prison, hooks back up with Gina, and two weeks later, they sail away. I'd have thought he'd have to check in, or something."
Paul shrugged. "It wouldn't be a surprise either way. Like I said, it depends on a lot of things. He's headed for the USVI, not out of the country. For all we know, he's expected to report in to somebody down there. They do all kinds of strange things these days. The system's overextended, and possession with intent to distribute isn't exactly the most serious crime on the books."
"I guess not. She said they wrote one another while he was in prison, so maybe that kept her from dating."
"Who knows?" Paul said, stretching. "Guess I'd better get a little rest, if you're set."
Storm Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 4th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers) Page 12